Chapter 38
THIRTY-EIGHT
Then
The pub was crowded, and I pushed aside the gravy-streaked dinner plate, picking up my wine glass and leaning back against the red leather bench, taking in the Friday-night activity unfolding around me.
At the bar, there were groups of people watching me, not bothering to be subtle, clearly waiting for me to vacate the family-sized table I’d nabbed more than an hour ago.
They were out of luck. I had no intention of going anywhere.
I poured myself another glass of ice-cold Pinot from the half-bottle I’d chosen, taking a deep sip and sighing with pleasure.
I had missed this… missed so much over the past eight months. Oh, but it had been worth it.
The noise of the place was comforting, familiar, easing my transition, and I smiled to myself, thinking of where I’d spent last Friday night. The tiny cell in the prison I’d called home for the past eight months in the notorious HMP Bronzefield. The largest women’s prison in the whole of Europe.
I’d thrown up when I’d heard I was going there.
My lawyer – useless, lying fuck he turned out to be – had said I wouldn’t go down.
He’d been so sure of himself that I’d believed him.
It turned out he’d been on the brink of losing his forty-year marriage, having been caught in an affair, and his mind had been elsewhere as he went through the motions, placating me like a child.
When the judge had read out the verdict, the sentence, I’d felt like I must be hallucinating.
It was a blessing that I’d been the only prisoner in the van that day; that nobody had seen the sweating, vomiting pile of jelly I’d become when I realised where we were heading.
I’d fallen apart completely, crying like a pathetic little child, but by the time the van pulled up at the prison gates, I’d got it out of my system.
I’d climbed out of the back, head held high, and from that moment had never once shown a scrap of fear.
Even when I’d seen my cellmate have a finger sawn off for disrespecting one of the inmates.
Or watched two women on GBH charges hold down one of the new girls and suffocate her with a bin bag.
They’d waited for her, known she was being brought in, that she’d messed with someone she shouldn’t have, and made up their minds that she wouldn’t survive the week.
I’d kept my mouth shut, turned my face away and pretended not to see.
I’d had to do that a lot. There had been things I had seen whilst trapped in that hellhole that had changed me.
Things that had scarred deep inside where I could never reach, but it was the price I had to pay, and I didn’t regret the choices that had led me there.
Really, if I reframed it, looked at it from a logical perspective, I was lucky to have stayed in one place for so long.
At least I’d been able to learn the ropes, understand who to avoid and who to go to for a favour.
So many of the others had been shipped from pillar to post, never able to settle.
I had even managed to keep the same cell for the last four months of my stay. It hadn’t been all bad.
I took another gulp of my wine, smiling to myself.
I’d made some stupid mistakes over the past few years, mistakes that had led to my being locked up – though the money had never been found – but I’d learned some valuable lessons too, and I was excited to put them into practice now I’d regained my freedom.
I clicked my tongue, reminding myself that patience was key. There was no rush – I was hardly on the breadline.
A young, flustered-looking waitress with dark brown pigtails and a heat rash across her chest came over to clear away my plate, and I smiled blandly at her. ‘Would you like the bill?’ she asked, glancing at the five empty spaces at my table that could no doubt be given to other paying customers.
‘No, I’ll have another bottle of wine. And the dessert menu.’
‘I… I’ll have to ask you to move to a smaller table now that it’s busy,’ she said.
‘I’m happy here.’
She swallowed, biting her lip nervously, then, meeting my confident stare, gave a non-committal nod and dashed off.
I tried not to let my irritation get the better of me.
But not too hard. If there was one thing I’d learned in prison, it was that you didn’t back down.
It never hurt to show your teeth a little, to let people know you might be calm, quiet even, but you were no pushover.
I glowered at her retreating back, hoping she could feel it.
My attention was dragged away when on the opposite side of the bar, the front door opened and a rowdy group of three men and two women burst inside, letting in a bitingly cold wind that made the flames in the open fire dance, the spaniel sleeping beside it raising its head as if to ask if they’d been born in a barn. My sentiments exactly.
The men were holding on to each other, singing something that sounded like a sea shanty, causing everyone to look their way.
All three were clearly drunk. And all three wore the distinctive camo of soldiers’ uniform.
What was it with army guys thinking they could take over a place like this?
And why did the women they were with put up with it?
It was crass to make such an obnoxious scene, to have no regard for anyone else trying to enjoy their evening.
I turned my head away, trying not to let their presence ruin my first night of freedom.
I’d managed to put up with a lot worse inside.
The constant shrieking. The petty arguments and bitchy drama that never seemed to abate – the only source of entertainment for the inmates who didn’t have enough brain cells to come up with any better use of their time.
I had actually found that worse than the violence.
It was the tedium of it, the complaining that made me want to slap them in their stupid little mouths.
They didn’t realise what a gift they’d been given.
Time , with no obligation to be anywhere, no pressure to get to work.
Personally, I had used every single day of those eight months to plan for the future, so when the time came to leave, I knew I wouldn’t find myself back in a cage.
‘Can we join you, beautiful?’
I grimaced as I looked up to find one of the camo-dressed buffoons standing over me. His voice was slurred, but there was an unmistakable twang of public school behind his casual request. And I knew from past experience that that came with entitlement.
‘Obviously not,’ I replied, holding my wine glass close to my chest, not trusting that he wouldn’t trip on his laces and knock the contents over my new dress.
I’d enjoyed the shopping trip this afternoon.
The way clothes seemed to fit better now.
I’d been to the prison gym daily, needing the exercise to keep me sane, and the results spoke for themselves. I wished I’d tried it before.
‘Oh, go on!’ one of the other men jeered.
I looked past him, seeing their female companions heading for the toilets.
I wasn’t about to let them force me out of here on my first night as a free woman.
Besides, I had a reason for coming here.
I would hardly find a decent target from the comfort of my sofa, would I?
This was the best table in the pub. It enabled me to see out the window and watch who was coming and going, and to assess the place without having to gawk around like a loser.
I wasn’t moving. Wasn’t leaving. And I’d be damned if they thought they could intimidate me.
Ignoring their bloodshot puppy-dog eyes, hoping they’d fuck off and leave me in peace, I turned away from them and came face to face with the nervous young waitress, holding a bottle of wine and the dessert menu. I already knew what she was going to say before the words left her mouth.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she stuttered, the heat rash creeping up her neck now, making me narrow my eyes, hating how weak she looked.
I couldn’t bear it. Wished she had the guts to tell me straight.
She might have earned a scrap of my respect then.
‘My boss insists that we need this table for larger parties.’
‘Are we not a large enough party for you?’ asked the blonde man – the one who’d called me beautiful – sliding in beside me, slinging an arm over my shoulder that I instantly shrugged off. The women returned from the toilets and sat down without seeming to notice my resistance to their presence.
The waitress gave a quick, relieved nod. ‘Oh, yes, of course… Can I get you a menu?’
‘Yeah, please. What are we drinking, ladies? Red?’ He glanced at the fresh bottle that the girl had placed in front of me. ‘Or white ?’ He winked and reached for the bottle, topping up my glass, and I snatched it back, jamming it into the ice bucket.
I could feel his eyes on my face as he spoke. ‘Three bottles of that stuff,’ he said, ‘and five more glasses.’
One of the women giggled. ‘You don’t even like wine, Thomas.’
He grinned, flashing a glimpse of straight white teeth. ‘I do tonight.’
He rested his arm on the bench behind me, as if we were old friends, and I scowled, trying to focus on the dessert menu in my hands.
‘Fucking tenacious, aren’t you?’ I muttered under my breath, seeing him break into a grin in my periphery.
If I wasn’t enjoying my freedom so damn much, wasn’t so good at keeping my cool, he’d be lucky to make it out of the pub with both his balls.